


Inextricably Linked

by Agent_Carter_1920



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: British Character, F/M, How Do I Tag, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Darkness, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mind Control, winter soldier reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Carter_1920/pseuds/Agent_Carter_1920
Summary: The past and the present are not separate, they are inextricably linked - a tangled web of death, love and loss.
Relationships: Avengers Team/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Kudos: 19





	1. Welcome (Back) To Hydra

I thought about the stars. I thought about gravity. Coffee. Watching the sunset and the colours spread across the sky like watercolours on canvas. I thought about waking every morning to the same person, growing old together.

I thought of Bucky. I thought of late nights spent laughing, sipping cider, and remembering fond memories. I thought about everything but the agony in my side.

I could hear voices over my comms link. Blurred together, non-distinguishable. I moved to turn off the shrieking cacophony in my ears but my body wouldn't respond. I moaned, scrunched my eyes shut, and tried again.

I let out a shout as my arm wrenched and a sickeningly wet sound reached my ears. I opened my eyes wide and panted. My neck groaned as I turned it to the right to see what the issue was. I blanched and took a deep breath. My arm was trapped underneath rubble.

My eyes were drawn to the ruby stained object protruding from my upper arm. I spent a few seconds wondering what it was - a rock, a stick, a crowbar?- before it idly clicked that it was, in fact, my bone. My stomach rolled and I fought off nausea. The last thing I needed right now was to be lying in my own vomit.

As the nausea and shock diminished, the sharp pain in my side resurfaced. I blinked back tears and swivelled my head back to my left. I looked my body up and down to assess the damage and whimpered at the sight of a bloody mess just above my left hip. My heart rate quickened immediately, and my breaths became shallow.

A brief thought flickered through my mind – _bye bye bikinis_. I let out a slightly hysterical giggle before I passed out from pain, frantic voices in my ear all the while.

* * *

The next time I woke up, I wasn't in the same place. I was lying on the floor of a small cell, with no windows and one fortified metal door. The floor was damp and cold.

The last time I was conscious and awake, I had been fighting a HYDRA operation in New York with Steve, Bucky and Natasha. It was supposed to be an easy mission, a simple in-and-out, but they planted a bomb in a nearby building during the fight and I had gotten caught in the blast, too slow to escape it because of the bullet wound in my side. I had been trapped by rubble, with broken walls and desks forming a cocoon around me.

Now I was somewhere unknown. I reached up to my right ear with my left hand to check on my comms, mindful of my now useless right arm. My heart skipped a beat. My comms link was gone. In a flash I was checking my hiding spots.

The knife in my combat boots was gone. The garotte in the leg lining of my catsuit was missing. The knife hidden in my sports bra wasn't there. I checked everywhere and came up empty.

During my search, I noticed that my bullet wound had been cleaned up and bandaged and the material around it that had been crusted in blood was cut away. I presumed it was to prevent infection. My crushed and destroyed right arm had been left alone.

I didn't know where the fuck I was, I had no weapons, no strength, was severely injured, and the arm I used to shoot with was a mangled stump. Fan-fucking-tastic. I leaned against the wall opposite the door and stared at it.

I wasn't kept waiting for long. I could hear what sounded like locks being drawn back, and then the door swung open to reveal a man. He was tall, pale, muscular, and had a rather square jaw.  
The man smiled at me, eyes cold and cruel. "Доброе утра, актив". He turned and spoke some words in Russian to the guards behind him, and they stepped forwards and dragged me – none too gently- out of the cell. “Do not try to run – we have much work for you to do, Asset.”

The man led me through dingy corridors, illuminated with dim sickly green tinged light from the bare bulbs in the ceiling. I swallowed and licked my dry lips. I opened my mouth, hesitating slightly before speaking. "My team knows where I am. You can’t-" The soldier on my left, grabbed me by the back of the neck and shoved me up against the wall. The tip of his rifle pressed into the back of my neck and my heart instantly started racing. My right arm, which was cradled to my chest, was screaming in agony.

The man grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. "Do not speak unless you are spoken to". I nodded quickly, tears brimming in my eyes.

The man motioned to the soldiers and I was roughly dragged away from the wall and back to my original position, the soldiers on either side. 

We resumed walking, until the man stopped at a steel door. There was a small rectangular label on the door, with Russian writing that I didn’t understand. And underneath that – there was a small piece of card in a frame, with more Russian writing, and a picture. A picture of me. The picture was unfamiliar, and yet... somehow it wasn't. I had my eyes shut, and it looked as though I was behind some kind of frost-covered glass. The man pushed the door open and I was roughly shoved inside.

The room had dark walls and no windows – like the cell I had been in earlier. In one corner, there was a tall cylindrical tube with some machinery next to it, that looked as if it was designed to contain a person. On the other side of the room I could see another door, leading into a cell with a small cot and a bucket. Then I noticed a black leather chair, also surrounded by machinery. I’d never been here before, and yet the whole set-up seemed inexplicably familiar.

My heart rate seemed to have tripled, and my breath was coming in short pants. I didn’t understand, but I knew that nothing good happened in this room. I didn’t remember anything, but just looking at the chair made my head ache, as if someone was hammering a tent peg into my skull.

There was also what appeared to be a surgical table accompanied by a tray with various surgical instruments on it. I stared at it, uncomprehending. The soldiers pushed me towards it and forced me to sit on the edge.

I heard the man shutting the heavy door with an audible clang, and the bolts being pulled. I clenched my left fist and tried not to freak out. Then another man stepped out of the shadows, and I instantly began to shake. He was wearing a lab coat and holding a file in his hands. I could see that it had a diagram of an arm on it, with labels that I couldn't read. His face was hidden behind a surgical mask, but his eyes were a steely grey above it.

"Агент, как видите, твоя правая рука бесполезна. Мы построим вам новый - один из Кулаков Гидры, вернувший, наконец, былую славу." The first man let out a short, harsh laugh, and the doctor joined him.

I felt numb. All the energy left me, and I couldn't find the will to fight. Their faces seemed familiar, as if I’d seen them in a dream, or walked by them on the street, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

His words echoed in my head and I couldn't bring myself to move. I didn't know where I was, I was injured, outnumbered, and probably about to lose my arm.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I vaguely registered being moved and put into a lying position. I was bound by leather straps and gagged with a similar thick leather strip that buckled at the back of my head.

I hear a whirring noise behind my head, and the doctor appeared in my line of vision.

“Сладких снов, актив” he whispered, and then I watched in eerie fascination as he began to saw at the stump of my arm. A blinding pain shot through my body, and I was falling, falling, falling…


	2. So What Are We Going To Do Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments/kudos are greatly appreciated :D
> 
> I do not own any of the characters, they belong to Marvel.
> 
> Any spelling/grammar errors are my own.
> 
> Also, this chapter is basically all dialogue.

Tony paced up and down the common room. It wasn’t like Steve to be late – and this had been one of Y/N’s first proper missions. 

He was about to call a suit and head up a search party when he heard the noise of the Quinjet outside. He ran out onto the tarmac, the wind from the rotors ruffling his hair. Steve stepped out of the jet; his stealth suit covered in dirt. 

Tony hurried towards him. “I lost her. I’m sorry. I lost Y/N. And Bucky’s been shot, he needs medical attention ASAP. There were too many of them, we weren’t ready. I’m sorry, I should have been watching her, but there were just too many of them, and…”

“Hey, hey, calm down. One thing at a time. Get Barnes to medical, then we can talk. And after that, you can take a shower, because, as much as ‘rugged’ is a good look on you ‘beat-up and bloodied’ really isn’t.” Tony said, trying to hide his fear under a layer of humour. 

Steve, though he saw right through Tony’s self-defence mechanism, nodded. He ducked back into the jet, and a moment later, he and Natasha came out with Bucky leaning heavily on their shoulders. Tony let out a low whistle. “Jeez, Barnes, what happened to you?”

Bucky flipped him one, his breath coming in short, pained gasps. 

A group of medics rushed out of the door with a stretcher, and whisked Bucky away to the hospital wing, evidently having been alerted by FRIDAY as to the nature of his injuries.

“Come inside – Thor left some of that Asgardian liquor from last time he was here, and you look as though you need a drink.” Steve followed Tony back into the compound and sat down heavily on one of the sofas as Tony poured them both a drink. 

He reached for the drink that Tony held out to him, but Natasha snatched it from him and downed it in one. Tony chuckled a little, and the corners of Steve’s mouth twitched.

“So, what happened? And don’t blame yourself like you always do.” Tony said, looking Steve in the eye.

“We’d gone in – Bucky and Nat had taken care of the agents outside the building, and everything seemed fine. We found a couple of security guards, but Y/N dealt with them pretty quickly. We got into the security room and backed up the hard-drive – Y/N did that as well, but Nat supervised. We were walking back out when we got ambushed by a bunch of agents in riot gear. Managed to get rid of most of em’ pretty quickly, but Bucky got really pissy because there were quite a lot of dead bodies, and he wasn’t having the best day. Got himself shot in the leg – clean through, thank goodness, but he’ll probably be on crutches for a while. And then Y/N, she…. she….”

“She shielded Bucky.” Natasha said, taking over from Steve, who looked up at her gratefully. “He was down – couldn’t move, and Steve and I were too busy dealing with the others to help – so she jumped in front of him. She got shot just above the hip, I think, but managed to take out the guy who’d done it – it turns out that riot suits are excellent electrical conductors, they just act like big microwaves – and the others we were fighting turned tail and ran, like they’d been told to retreat. We got Bucky up, and she agreed to guard while we carried him.”

“Was she okay? – I mean, she’d been shot, blood loss and all that.” asked a voice from behind Tony. 

He turned, and there, sitting on the other sofas or leaning against the wall, were Sam, Clint and Wanda.

“How long have you been standing there?” Tony asked, slightly annoyed that Clint, of all people, had managed to make him jump.

“Long enough.” said Clint, smirking slightly at Tony’s obvious discomfort, before his expression became serious again. “So, was she okay?”

“I wouldn’t say that she was okay – but she hadn’t collapsed, and she could still aim straight. She’s not strong enough to support Bucky’s weight anyway.” Natasha replied.

“She is.” Steve interjected. “But she was injured, and we weren’t, and anyway, she’s too short to have actually helped support him, given that me and Buck are about 6 inches taller than her. We’d made it out of the building and then we got ambushed by about 3 guards. She told us to run ahead to the jet. We’d got Bucky inside, and were headed back to help when the explosion happened.”

“What kind of explosion? As in, was it a grenade, or a bomb?” Tony cut in. “And wasn’t this supposed to be a simple in-and-out mission? Nothing too serious, minimum guard numbers, looser security?”

“I think it was a bomb they’d planted beforehand. It’s unlikely that it was there specifically because we were, but I don’t think we should rule anything out at this point. But you’re right, the guard numbers should definitely have been lower, it was supposed to be an intel-gathering mission rather than an all-out fight.” Natasha said.

“They were ready for us.” Steve stated quietly. “They knew we were coming – those guards weren’t in full riot gear by coincidence. This is HYDRA we’re talking about – there are no coincidences when it comes to them.”

“I’m assuming that Y/N was caught in the blast?” Wanda questioned, her Sokovian lilt coming through more strongly, as it always did when she was worried or angry. “And why didn’t you try to get her out?”

“We couldn’t get through the rubble – and there were still guards everywhere. We didn’t leave her there by choice.” Steve said, voice rising slightly. “We came back because Bucky had been shot and needed attention, and because we’re going to need more than just me and Nat to find her!”

Steve was standing up now, and although he wasn’t quite shouting, he was coming dangerously close to completely losing it. 

Natasha stood up and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Steve…we all care about Y/N as much as you do – we know you’d never willingly leave a teammate behind. We’re all stressed, because we’re all worried about her.”

Steve nodded, before turning to Wanda.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m just worried about her because it’s my fault she’s in this mess.”

“None of this was your fault, Steve.” Natasha said, gently. “She volunteered for this mission, and we let her go because it seemed like a good idea at the time, to let her get field experience.”

“But it was HYDRA. I should have known they’d want her back.” He said, voice dropping to almost a whisper.

“Want her back? What do you mean, want her back? She’s a normal person!” exclaimed Tony.

“A normal person, who just happens to be a fully-trained assassin, even though she doesn’t remember learning how to fight. A normal person who just happens to be able to speak fluent Russian, even though she’s never been to Russia, and can’t speak it if you ask her to. A normal person who just happens to have been captured by HYDRA.”

“Or killed by them, because they dropped a building on her.” Tony muttered.

“No, she’s not dead. They will have wanted her alive. They were probably aiming to capture Bucky as well – I don’t think him being shot in the leg was an accident. It meant that he wouldn’t be able to run. I think the agent who shot Y/N was actually gunning for me or Natasha.” Steve said, his voice still heavy with regret.

“Alright, but what’s all this bullshit about her being fluent in Russian?” Tony shot back.

“If you told her to speak it outright, she wouldn’t be able to – but if I say something to her in Russian, and she’s not paying attention, she replies in Russian, she doesn’t even notice the language switch.”

“It’s the same with German.” Clint piped up. “And French. I just though she learnt at school, or taught herself, or something.”

“But she can’t fight! You had to teach her how to use a gun, for God’s sake! And she’s supposed to be some assassin!?”

“I didn’t.” Natasha replied, calmly.

“What do you mean, you didn’t? She just picked up the gun and magically knew how to use it? And that didn’t freak her out?” Tony’s voice had become dangerously sarcastic.

“She was telling me about the school she went to – in England. It was a boarding school, and she did CCF, or something like that.” Wanda put in.

“What the hell is CCF?” asked Sam, Tony, Clint and Steve, at pretty much the same time.

“Combined Cadet Force. It’s like army training, but it’s aimed at young adults. They do it at quite a lot of private boarding schools in England, I think.” Natasha said. “Obviously, some part of army training would involve learning how to use a gun – but I do think that her level of skill says ‘assassin’ more than ‘basic training’.”

“Why hasn’t anyone a) told me about this, or b) told Fury – don’t you think we should know if one of our teammates is a walking time bomb?” Tony queried.

“Because I knew you’d react badly!” Steve exclaimed. “Only me and Bucky had a solid theory about this, and Natasha knows because she’s Nat, she knows everything! Before today,” he continued, looking at Wanda, Sam and Clint “did any of you know any of this?”

Sam shrugged, and Wanda shook her head.

“Clint?” Steve pressed. “Did you know?”

“No – Christ, no! I never would have guessed. She’s just…well, to put it bluntly, Cap, she’s the complete opposite of Bucky.” Clint said, matter-of-factly. Steve smiled slightly – it was a sad smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“She reminds me of Bucky before – you know. Before HYDRA. She’s funny, smart, kind – ” He stopped, and it looked as though a shadow had passed over his face. “Other than the fact that she was brought up in a different era…”

“Or we think she was.” Tony muttered. “For all we know, she’s the same age as you and Barnes.”

“How is it that she managed to escape in the first place – and why doesn’t she remember _anything_ about her time there? Bucky only managed because of you, and he remembers being the Soldier – so why doesn’t she?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. But I do know that we’re going to find her, wherever she is, and stop HYDRA from ever getting hold of her – or anyone else – ever again.”

“What’s the plan, Cap?”

Steve stood up and began pacing in front of the sofa, thinking hard. “Tony, I want you to get everything you can find on Y/N – even if it doesn’t seem important. We need all the information we can get.”

Tony nodded, and headed for the lab, already giving FRIDAY instructions as he went.

“Sam, Clint and Natasha, I want you to go to the building and look for Y/N. If there are any guards still around, get them to tell you everything they know. And find the hard drive, if you can – Y/N had it, but she may have dropped it or had it taken from her.”

Clint gave a two-fingered salute, and left for the armoury with Natasha, the two of them talking in rapid, hushed German. Sam shrugged and followed them.

“What about us?” Wanda asked.

“You and I are going to see Bucky, then we’ll take the jet and fly to Jersey.”

“Jersey? What’s so special about Jersey?”

“Camp Lehigh – it’s where the original SHIELD base was built. Most of it got destroyed, but I’ve got a hunch that there’s still a lot of intel down there that HYDRA haven’t got around to removing or destroying yet. We’re going to see if we can find out any information about ‘projects’ involving Y/N or anyone she’s connected to.”

Wanda nodded, and smiled determinedly at him.

“When do we start?”


	3. Remember ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if the Russian is a little inaccurate - I am using Google Translate!
> 
> Please leave a comment/kudos - any ideas or helpful criticisms are welcome.
> 
> Any spelling or grammar errors are my own.

There was a dull ache in my head, and my surroundings seemed fuzzy. I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t move an inch.

I looked down at myself and noticed that I was strapped tightly to a table, and that my damaged right arm had been replaced by metal.

I felt that this should scare me more than it did – the only thing I felt was a calm indifference.

I couldn’t remember how I got here. Or why I was here. Now that I was thinking about it, I couldn’t really remember anything.

I had vague recollections of being strapped down like this before, but as soon as the memory became tangible, it drifted away again. I grimaced. I knew that I _should_ remember, but I just couldn’t.

A face drifted into my line of vision – a man’s face. He had short dark hair, and angry red scars covered most of his face.

He looked familiar, and as that thought registered, a sharp stab of pain shot through my head, and I shut my eyes.

“Я думал, вы сказали, что она стабилизируется?” (I thought you said she was stabilising?) the man said. He sounded angry.

“Она должна быть.” (She should be) Another voice said, from behind my head. This voice sounded scared.

“Это явно не так. Так что возьмите ее и посадите в кресло!” (This is clearly not the case. So get her up and put her in the chair!) the first man replied.

I lay there, eyes shut, unmoving. I didn’t understand what they were talking about.

There was a series of dull snapping sounds, and then there was a rough pair of hands on my shoulders, pushing me off the table and onto my feet.

I opened my eyes. There was a cold circle on the back of my neck, where the voice from behind my head was holding a gun.

The man with the scars was looking at me with an almost sadistic eagerness, with his hand resting on the gun in a holster at his hip.

I chanced a look at my surroundings, and to my surprise, I recognised them.

The man with the scars had been here before, and there had been a doctor, and pain, and cold, and fear…

My breathing quickened, and I fought to keep it under control as I was walked across the room to a leather chair.

The chair was surrounded by machinery, and it was on a lower level than the rest of the room. It was surrounded by a railing, and several guards stood around the perimeter.

The doctor from before was standing by the chair, tapping something onto one of the monitors.

The man with the scar and the man with the gun manoeuvred me into the chair.

Scar muttered something to him, and he nodded, and walked out of my line of vision.

“Как вас зовут?” Scar asked. “Your name?” he repeated, when I didn’t reply.

My mouth seemed to move of its own accord, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were true.

“My name is Agent Y/N Y/L/N, 2562924601. My- ” I was cut off as the doctor forced a rubber mouthpiece into my mouth. He nodded to Scar, who pressed a button on the side of the chair.

Clamps locked into place around my arms and waist, securing me. There was an all-too-familiar whirring noise, as the headset lowered itself onto me.

It locked into place, and a high-pitched screaming noise began. I vaguely registered that it was me before my skull cleaved in half and the world went white.

I was five years old, and my father was teaching me to ride a bike.

I was twelve, and reading a book in the apple tree in my garden.

I was seventeen, and my mother was showing me how to make meatballs.

I was twenty-one, and meeting Bucky for the first time.

As each memory came into my mind, I did my best to cling onto it, but one by one they were all erased into wisps of white smoke.

It was night, and Bucky was whirling me around in the ballroom with a thousand eyes.

It was day, and we were walking hand in hand through Central Park.

It was night, and I was laughing with him in a restaurant.

It was day, and Bucky and I were putting up Christmas decorations in our apartment.

The white streaks came for these memories, but I fought them off.

I needed to remember. I had to.

“What is your name, asset?”

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N. 2562924-”

The headset came down again.

“Как вас зовут?”

“A-agent Y/N…Y/L/N. 2562…92-”

Blinding pain.

“Your name?”

“2562…9…24…”

Screams.

“Ваше имя?”

“I…”

“Это заняло у нее достаточно много времени.” (Took her long enough.) remarked the doctor.

“Двадцать три. Должно быть, это какая-то запись.” (Twenty-three. Must be some kind of record.) Scar replied, with a sadistic grin. He picked up a book from a small table. The book was black, with a red star in the middle of it. My heartrate, already erratic, doubled just looking at it.

“исполнение” (Fulfilment)

Someone had started pushing a knife into the base of my skull.

“отполированный” (Polished)

“семьдесят один” (Seventy-one)

The knife was twisted around, and a sharp pain began to seep through my head.

“закат солнца” (Sunset)

“водопад” (Waterfall)

“девяносто” (Ninety)

Someone was hammering a tent peg through my skull from the inside.

“жестокость” (Cruelty)

“побег” (Escape)

“десять” (Ten)

“грузовик” (Truck)

I did not feel. I did not remember.

I was the Asset.

“Доброе утро, солдат.” (Good morning, soldier)

“Готов подчиниться.” (Ready to comply)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take another look at the Reader's trigger words, and then look at Bucky's. (And yes, this was deliberate)
> 
> Also, take another look at the Reader's serial number - 2562924601.
> 
> 25629 was Hetty Feather's foundling number (from the series of books by Jaqueline Wilson)
> 
> 24601 was Jean Valjean's number (from Les Misérables by Victor Hugo)
> 
> (I do not own either of these characters, they belong to their respective owners.)


	4. Chapter 4

The gates squeaked on their hinges, the rusted barbed wire lining the top curling towards them. Steve gave the gates a final shove, and they swung open, allowing he and Wanda to enter. They headed across the camp, past the mess hall and barracks, to a crater surrounded by rubble. Wanda looked at Steve, who nodded, and they headed into the crater.

When they reached the bottom, Wanda moved the debris away from the passage, and they headed inside, occasionally moving more stones out of the way. The further they moved into the passage, the less rubble they encountered. Eventually, they stepped through a doorway into a room filled with desks, maps lining the walls.

Steve stepped closer to one of the walls, and looked at the three pictures that hung there, with a sad sort of quietness about him.

“You knew them, didn’t you.” Wanda said. It was a statement rather than a question.

“Colonel Phillips was in charge of my training. Howard Stark built-”

“Stark? Then that’s…”

“Tony’s father? Yeah. Stark was a pal.” Steve said, smiling sadly. “He’s dead now, of course – but then, they all are. Dead and gone.”

“But not forgotten.” Wanda said.

“No. Never.”

They stood there for a moment in silence, looking at the photographs. Steve sighed, and turned to scan the room, looking for another way out.

One of the larger maps on the far wall was surrounded by a frame, which was odd, because none of the other maps did.

He walked up to it. The map showed New York, and Steve absent-mindedly reached out to touch Brooklyn Bridge.

There was a click, and a whir, and the map swung inwards to reveal a room full of filing cabinets. A small label on the doorframe said RECORDS.

Steve turned to look for Wanda, only to find her already by his side. Together, they walked cautiously into the room, stirring up clouds of dust.

“What are we looking for?” Wanda whispered.

“Anything that mentions a Y/L/N – see if you can find the personnel records. I’m going to look for projects, see if there are any that mention her.”

Wanda nodded, and opened her mouth to reply, but inhaled a mouthful of dust by mistake and sneezed instead, making Steve chuckle a little.

They got to work opening drawers and searching their contents.

While sorting through one cabinet, Steve realised with a jolt that the handwriting on some of the files was Peggy’s.

He sighed, and regretted it, because it blew dust everywhere and sent him into a coughing fit like he hadn’t had since he had first come to the camp as a ninety-pound asthmatic.

About ten minutes later, Wanda piped up.

“Steve…I think I’ve found her.”

Steve walked over from the cabinet he was rifling through and stood by her side.

It was a personnel file, and the photo at the top was unmistakably Y/N.

“That’s her.” Steve nodded.

“Yes, but _look_. Look at her date of birth. And her name is different.”

Steve took the file from her and scanned it quickly, before handing it back, his brow furrowed in thought.

“What does PKIA mean?” asked Wanda, looking up at Steve.

“Presumed Killed in Action. It just means that she went missing under dire circumstances and so was most likely dead.”

“Like Bucky.”

“Pretty much.” Steve said, frowning. “I remember Pegs talking about this girl she met at Bletchley. Don’t think she ever mentioned her name, but I remember her saying they joined SSR together.”

“We’ll take it back, then the others can look at it. Tony might be able to work his magic on the photo.” Wanda said, putting it in her satchel.

Steve went back to the cabinet he had been looking through and attempted to open the next drawer.

It was stuck – either locked or jammed, but Steve suspected the former. He looked closer at the label on the drawer, which claimed that it contained Discontinued Projects.

There was a small smudge in the corner, which looked like a blot of red ink, but on closer inspection was…

“Wanda? You can open locks, right?”

“Sometimes – it depends. Why?”

“Can you try this one?”

Wanda weaved her way through the cabinets and crouched next to Steve. She stared at the lock, and small red tendrils crept from her hands and into the keyhole. She twisted her wrists, and with a _click_ , the drawer slid open.

“Is that-?”

“HYDRA. Come on, let’s pack them up and get outta here. Take as many as you can – we don’t want to come back here if we can help it.”

They managed to fit all the files from the drawer into Wanda’s bag, and then started pulling on all the drawers they hadn’t yet opened. Any that were locked, Wanda opened, and the files inside were packed into their bags.

Steve did a final sweep of the room before they headed back out and up to the surface.

It was night outside when they emerged, clouds scudding across the velvety black sky and the pale moonlight casting shadows on the buildings.

Wanda shivered slightly in the cool air, and Steve wrapped an arm around her protectively as they headed back to their car.

When they got back to the compound, it was about 3am, and although Tony was probably still awake, trying to wake up the rest of the team without anyone being killed was unlikely. Clint was _not_ a morning person.

Steve half-carried Wanda to her room and laid her gently on her bed – she had drifted off before they had even left Jersey.

The next morning, when everyone was awake and Clint was in a state that vaguely resembled consciousness, they gathered in a conference room to look at the files.

Tony had got JARVIS running a search on every database accessible (and several that weren’t supposed to be) but had not had any results so far.

“Well, Cap? Find anything interesting?” Tony asked, around a mouthful of croissant.

“You could say that.” Steve replied, pulling out Y/N’s file and beginning to read. “Susan Millicent Faulkner. Born 28th October 1921. Oxford, England. Worked at Bletchley Park. Joined the SSR in 1940. Missing, PKIA, 1944.”

A loud silence filled the room as Steve put the file down.

“Could I see that photo?” Tony asked. “I can get JARVIS to do a facial recognition scan – it will speed up the process of finding her significantly.”

Steve slid the file across the table, and Tony pulled up a virtual screen from the table and began tapping away at a keyboard, lines of code flashing across his face.

“So is that her real name – Susan? Or was her real name Y/N, and she just lied on her enlistment form? But why would she do that – what would be the point?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. It may be that the name on the file is her real name – but Y/N Y/L/N was given to her by HYDRA to put another barrier between her and her memories.” Steve said, sighing heavily. “We need to look at these other files – we don’t have enough evidence to suggest anything at this point.”

“But we think that she was taken by HYDRA after she ‘died’, right?” Sam asked.

“That looks like the most logical explanation. It’s what they did with Bucky – but then he had already been experimented on, there was a point to keeping him.”

“Well, let’s have a crack at these files then, shall we?” Clint said, draining the last of his coffee and stretching. He grabbed one of the files nearest to him and began to read. Everyone else followed suit, and soon the room was filled with the rustling of pages being turned, and the occasional quiet exclamation of anger or disgust.

“Oh my God.”

They had been at it for almost half an hour, and Steve had almost gotten used to the shocked or indignant outbursts, but this one made him look up.

Wanda had been silent the entire time, never once looking up or displaying any sign of emotion. She was staring at the file in her hands, shock and disgust clear on her face.

At her words, he glanced up at her. “What is it?” he asked, softly.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak, but a voice from the doorway cut her off.

“Be careful with that – if it says anything about triggers, I don’t want to hear it.”

Bucky walked into the room, limping heavily, but otherwise looking no worse for wear. He slumped down heavily on the chair next to Steve, and gestured for Wanda to continue.

“Asset #1 should be kept away from missions in America, and any missions involving trains. Although Captain Rogers has been terminated, other links to Asset #1 may still remain. Asset #2 presents no such problems, although missions to England should not occur unless absolutely necessary, as Agent Carter knows both Asset #1 and Asset #2. Agent Carter cannot be terminated as she is vital to Project Parasite. If the Assets come into contact with her, they must be terminated immediately.”

A silence fell on the room like snow.

“Asset #1 was me. Asset #2 was presumably Y/N.” Bucky said, matter-of-factly.

“Bucky…do you remember someone called Susan? Susan Faulkner?”

Bucky turned to look at Steve, his face pale.

“Susan Faulkner? Don’t you remember Susie, Steve?”

**Author's Note:**

> Доброе утра актив = Good morning asset  
> Агент, как видите, твоя правая рука бесполезна. Мы построим вам новый - один из Кулаков Гидры, вернувший, наконец, былую славу. = Agent, as you can see, your right arm is useless. We will build you a new one - one of the Fists of Hydra restored at last to her former glory.  
> Сладких снов, актив = Sweet dreams, asset
> 
> I'm sorry if the translations are a little inaccurate - I used Google Translate because I don't speak Russian, although I am trying to learn!


End file.
